


i'm not one for leaving (i'm nothing without your love)

by possibilist



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/possibilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'To your credit, none of your clothes are see-through or leather or have holes in them today, and your sweater slouches quite appropriately, you’re pretty sure. You still have your boots and your eyeliner—you’re not that whipped, and plus, Laura likes it.' carmilla meets laura's dad for the first time. carmilla/laura, fluff (featuring awkward carmilla).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm not one for leaving (i'm nothing without your love)

**Author's Note:**

> from a tumblr prompt.

You’re pretty sure this may be one of the worst ideas Laura has ever had—she thinks it’s one of the best, and apparently you’re embarrassingly helpless when she’s squeezing your ass and kissing you senseless—but you’re currently sitting in the cold evening with her on a bench near Main Campus’ quad, watching a stream of overeager parents greet their children. In any scenario, you wouldn’t be particularly thrilled about the prospect of meeting your girlfriend’s parents, but Laura’s dad is massively protective of her.  
Laura, though, is brimming with excitement, fidgeting in a mustard yellow peacoat and riding boots next to you, one of her hands resting on your thigh. To your credit, none of your clothes are see-through or leather or have holes in them today, and your sweater slouches quite appropriately, you’re pretty sure. You still have your boots and your eyeliner—you’re not that whipped, and plus, Laura likes it.  
But still, you know how you look to people; it’s on purpose, the hardness: partially because you are—you don’t live over three centuries without some relentless texture—but some of it is protection. And Laura, whose maroon scarf you’d reluctantly put on—It softens you, she said with a smile and a little kiss—is underneath your skin, and the part that scares you more than anything is that you really, really like it.  
So here you are, trying to remember what it felt like to have a nervous heartbeat, while Laura chatters away next to you. You know how important this is to her—she lost her mom when she was nine to cancer, so it’s been her and her dad for a long time—and, for once, you do very much care about not randomly fucking with people.  
She’s in the middle of a long question toward you—which you think has something to do with the possible existence of a vampire’s natural body odor as alluring to humans—when you roll your eyes and kiss her cheek, and she turns and smiles gently, kisses you softly. She traces your lower lip with her thumb and then cups your cheek, and she’s by far the most idiotically brave person you’ve know: your nature terrified Elle; Laura wants to know everything about it.  
She backs up with a grin and continues her question, and you roll your eyes but mostly try to pay attention, but then she stops mid-sentence with a squeal and pops out her seat, rushes to a predictably unremarkable, middle-aged man wearing a dark blue button-up and jeans. He wraps her up quickly, kisses the top of her head. She’d come out to him in high school, she told you, and she’d been nervous—he wasn’t the most progressive thinker—but he’d just given her a hug and said the same rules applied in terms of his right to threaten any potential significant other. You’ve been through centuries of comings-out, and even though there are so, so many things in the world that haven’t changed, sometimes there are glimmers of hope for you: her dad may or may not be crying a little, and Laura definitely is, and there’s no barrier between them.  
It makes you inexplicably sad and happy at once, and you stand and hover awkwardly near them. Laura eventually seems to remember you, and she stands back a little bit and beckons you over with her hand.  
"Dad," she says, and she takes a deep breath and then laces your fingers together, and his eyes widen briefly before he scowls at you in the same pinched, angry face as his daughter. "This is my girlfriend, Carmilla," she says.  
You stick out your right hand—few things in the world make you nervous anymore, but suddenly you’re strikingly anxious—and he shakes it. You match the firmness of his grip—you could break his hand in a flash, but he doesn’t know that, and he looks impressed for a moment. “It’s nice to meet you, sir,” you say, and Laura laughs. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”  
He looks fondly at Laura, and then back at you.  
You have no idea what he’s about to say, but his expression makes you kind of nervous, but then Laura starts chattering away. “Dad, I have an itinerary and everything, and Carmilla is going to dinner with us so you can get to know her with me as a mediator, and then I’ll spend most of tomorrow with you and show you around just by myself, so we can spend our time together.”  
He gives you a full up-and-down glance, and you’re weirdly self-conscious, now, of your scuffed boots, but then he smiles at Laura, at your linked hands, and maybe he approves of the fact that you’re a little rough around the edges. “That sounds great, sweetheart.”  
She beams and you all walk together to a nearby steak and seafood restaurant—you’re paying, you’d told Laura in no uncertain terms—and when you mindlessly order a bottle of expensive red wine while Laura and her dad are looking over the menu, he puts his down and stares at you.   
Laura notices after a few seconds and then rolls her eyes, takes your hand. “Carmilla comes from a long line of very proper family.”  
He narrows his eyes—probably thinking you’re a drug dealer or something—but picks up his menu again.  
He orders steak and lobster, and you follow suit—you like the taste of human food, and you’re eternally the exact physical size you are now, so you can really eat as much as you want, and in this moment, you know it’s going to prove to be immensely fun to impress him. Laura orders salmon, and you roll your eyes at her painful attempt to pretend that she eats healthily.  
"So, Carmilla," he says, and then takes a sip of his wine with an approving expression—it’s not the best wine you’ve ever had, but it’s adequate—"tell me about yourself."  
So many really terrible things run through your mind, but you end up saying, “I’m originally from Austria and I’m a third year philosophy major.”  
Laura looks at you fondly because of the formality and dullness of your answer, then meets her father’s gaze. “She’s an absolute slob; she sleeps too late; most of her clothes are black and ripped somewhere; she steals my pillow and eats my food.”  
Her father glares like these are criminal offenses, and Laura’s smile grows, and she pats her dad’s hand.  
"Those are her very worst qualities, Dad, so really, you have absolutely nothing to worry about."  
The waiter brings your food, so there’s a brief lull in the weird tension that Laura is navigating deftly, and you crack your lobster tail with one hand just to show off.  
"I’m fluent in eight languages," you offer because it seems like something parents would approve of, and he looks at you and then Laura with raised brows to check the validity of that statement.  
"She’s being modest," Laura says, and you take a huge bite of steak, glancing down. If you could blush, you would. "She has proficiency in like, seventeen."  
He looks very impressed at that, and also how voraciously you’re consuming your food. It drives you insane how you should be a centuries-old badass vampire, but Laura’s dad is scaring you.  
Laura says a few more nice things about you—you help her with her papers, you make sure she gets home okay—although neither of you mention you’re living together, because Laura doesn’t think her dad can handle that information quite yet.   
You order dessert and let Laura eat most of it, and her dad has had some wine, watched you eat an entire steak and lobster tail, and is generally looking far less disapproving.  
And then Laura excuses herself to go to the bathroom and unabashedly gives you a quick kiss, and when you look back at her father, he’s only frowning slightly.  
"You know," he says, leaning back, "when she told me she was a lesbian, the only thing that scared me was that her future partner wouldn’t be able to protect her as well. Which, I know, there are parts of me that are still old-fashioned, but she’s my little girl, and—"  
"I’d give my life for her, sir," you say before you can even overthink it—you’re a little tipsy but entirely serious, and the minute the words leave your mouth, you feel everything in you shift at the admission—it’s so true, and the choice might come down to it, and immediately you know the answer.  
He takes a deep breath and then nods resolutely. “So, seventeen languages, huh?”  
You’re in the middle of reluctantly explaining your interest in Russian when Laura gets back. Upon seeing the two of you having civil conversation, she grins and squeezes her dad’s shoulder before kissing you again and sitting down.  
You know it’s been a long day for her dad—the flight is five hours, give or take—and after you snag the bill with a roll of your eyes, you catch him yawning tiredly and you give Laura’s hand a brief squeeze.   
"Carm has an early seminar," Laura says, which is a complete and hilarious lie, but you fight back a smile, "so we’re going to head home, if that’s okay?"  
The way she says we and home make your very still insides flip like you’ve not felt in centuries, and her dad nods.  
He gives Laura a long hug after she makes sure he knows how to get to the hotel okay, and then he surprises you by drawing you into a hug as well.  
It’s stiff and awkward but Laura’s dad whispers, “I’m just glad you’re not some prissy wallflower,” which makes you laugh, and Laura is so happy she’s near tears when you separate. You take her hand first this time, and you wave goodbye and turn in the direction of your dorm.  
She kisses your knuckles and even skips a little, which makes you laugh. Your chest is warm, which is entirely unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and you tug on her hand and kiss her fully under a streetlamp, cradle her face in your hands.  
"I feel very young tonight," you say, and this sad, understanding smile blooms on her face.  
"You are only eighteen, after all," she grants you instead of pressing, and you kiss her again.


End file.
